


have you no faith?

by mxntparnasse



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Unrequited? love, brief sex mention, everyone dies, im bad at tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 16:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5424707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxntparnasse/pseuds/mxntparnasse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire didn't feel any pain for the warmth of a hand in his and a soft, genuine smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	have you no faith?

"You are all my friends! Do you think I wish to see you die for a republic that will never come to be?" Grantaire cried, gesturing as he spoke and coming close to knocking over the bottle perched on the table.  
"Have you no faith?" Enjolras grew ever more radiant as the date they'd set for the rebellion grew nearer. He was brilliant, now, invincible. Achilles, Grantaire reflected with a bitter laugh. Unstoppable if not for the fact that-  
"It is not my lack of faith. It is your lack of realism! They outnumber us. There are twelve of us here, and the women. Two of them will not be present to fight. They are family men and you are nothing if not a protector of the family. They will be sent home. Ten of us to perhaps ten hundred? We have no chance."  
"What would you know of realism? You're a drunkard, an artist. A coward. You live outside of the world I do, and refuse to accept your delusion," Enjolras spat. "We will do more than simply succeed- we will inspire change all over France, over the world, until all men are free!" His voice had risen steadily as he spoke and there was a cheer from the rest of their friends.  
"I admire your ideas, Apollo. You are aware of that. But today, you are Achilles, and the sword draws ever nearer to your ankles." He scoffed. "And who am I but humble Patroclus, yes? A loyal servant who dooms himself to die for his master's cause."  
"We will not die, if not of lack of belief. When day breaks on a republic, on our republic, you will learn. If that is possible for such a half-witted cynic as yourself. Will you fight with us or not?"  
"And watch my friends perish? Do you truly believe I wish to see that? I do not lust for blood. I lust for good wine, good friends, and good bedmates. I am, as you have said, but a simple creature. I cannot compare, o Apollo, to the thoughts of a god. But let me sing you hymns nonetheless."  
Enjolras scoffed.  
"My friends! My fellow men! We must sleep. For tomorrow is the day of our attack. Take your leave, and be here early. Stay with your wives, those who have them. I do not wish to see you until the republic has arisen."  
Grantaire lingered in the cafe as everyone strolled out. Enjolras was gathering his papers- battle plans, Grantaire was sure, and he knew a draft of a newly written constitution was in the pile- when he looked up and spotted him in the corner.  
"Well? Do you not wish to go home and hole yourself up in your cheap wine and paints?"  
"Ah, Apollo, how I long to be in your presence while you still reside here on earth. I cannot leave while you still are here. I am but a humble-"  
Enjolras crossed the room in a few quick strides and had Grantaire pinned against the wall before he could comprehend what was going on.  
"Don't you see? This cannot fail. The people will see what we do, and rise lest we fall. France is ready for change, and just because you cannot see that does not mean it is not time. Come with me."  
"You offer me no choice," Grantaire remarked dryly as Enjolras dragged him by one arm.  
"You have offered me no others but this."  
Grantaire later reflected that he hadn't yet seen where Enjolras lived. It was a large, well-furnished apartment, filled with the works of philosophers throughout the ages and papers of Enjolras' own scattered about. He didn't have time to explore, as Enjolras was pushing him on towards his bedroom and onto his mattress.  
"Get undressed," he snarled.  
Grantaire hurried to comply, too pleased with the sudden change of events to question it. Enjolras stripped quickly, a god in all his glory. He was pale and slim, but not sickly, and had Grantaire been able to distance himself from what was to happen the day after, he'd beg for permission to sketch the seemingly perfect curves of his body.  
"The oil is sitting on the table. Get yourself ready."  
Enjolras was not a gentle lover. Rather, he seemed to pour his passion into everything he did and, for once, Grantaire was no exception. He ached as soon as they had both spent, but couldn't find it in himself to complain- Enjolras fell asleep almost immediately, hair shining silver in the light of the moon and skin glowing with a sort of ethereal beauty Grantaire could not put into words. He was the child of the republic, born to die on the barricades and growing more beautiful the closer his time came. Grantaire would give anything to make sure the revolution did not take place, anything to keep his dearest friends from harm. He touched the purpling bruise on his neck, then traced a finger gently over the line of Enjolras' cheekbones. He was up late that night, not wine-drunk and rambling but, god, why not spend his last night on earth drinking in the most beautiful sight he could think of? His skin was smooth and warm under his fingers and Grantaire's chest ached with an emotion he couldn't name with every soft touch- terror, yes, but a strange joy, a bittersweet hollow in his stomach.  
He woke up with his hand on Enjolras' chest and golden hair in his mouth. The day was as clear as the night before had been, bright and beautiful. Fitting, Grantaire reflected. Without thinking, he moved himself closer to Enjolras, trying to memorize the feel of the heart thrumming under his fingertips, knowing it would be the last time he felt it. 

 

Enjolras was beautiful. His voice, high and strident, carried out over the din of cannon-fire. Grantaire had begun drinking after he saw Jehan dragged away screaming, and had no plans to stop. By that point- perhaps it was the next day? those who remained had come in sometime, and Enjolras had given him several scathing glances- he was well and truly drunk, but Enjolras was well and truly in his element. Grantaire could feel himself getting tired and welcomed sleep's warm embrace, a cruel counterpart to the cold oblivion that waited for his friends.  
"Do you wish to have your eyes bandaged?" came an unfamiliar voice, harsh and impatient.  
"No."  
Enjolras wasn't far away- he was still alive! Grantaire barely had time to be elated before he realized the implications of the soldiers' words. He had already stood and stretched, but now he was truly awake. If Enjolras was the last, well, what harm was there in joining his friends in another slumber?  
"Long live the republic! I'm one of them."  
Enjolras stared at him as he crossed the room- he struggled to ignore the fact that he'd been so recently pressed against the same wall- and turned to him.  
Grantaire didn't feel any pain for the warmth of a hand in his and a soft, genuine smile.


End file.
